


ne me laisse pas seul

by fearless_seas



Series: Thirteen Years. [10]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26267692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: “Why do you like to hurt me?”Their eyes meet over the distance.“Because you’ve done worse and you don’t even see it."
Relationships: Nelson Piquet/Alain Prost
Series: Thirteen Years. [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1051418
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	ne me laisse pas seul

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder if you haven't seen it: I started a second series called "Thirteen Year II" where I drop a ton of fics that are in the Proquet universe but do not fit in the Alain POV story. This includes gold such as Nelson narrated fics... gay old men and a ton of other ships that fit in the universe! For now there is only one fic being updated on that series but it will grow over time. 
> 
> This Thirteen Years I series will end with the final chapter of 1994 and will have no further installments. Following the publication of that final chapter, make sure to keep your eyes peeled on updates in the Thirteen Years II series if you want more Proquet that wasn't in the original series or other fics in the universe. 
> 
> Anyways, after that rant. Onto the story.

**\----- 1991 -----**

**March 10th**

**______________________**

  
  


For the first time in a while, Alain is beside Ayrton in the front row on the grid. He doesn’t peer towards him, in fact he looks nowhere near him. And it's an unfulfilled feeling. He casts his eyes away from Ayrton towards the starting lights, squinting his eyes at the sun coming in through the clouds. 

He wonders how much longer he can play this game. 

______________________

**March 24th**

Nelson left right after the race for his home on the coast leaving Alain alone at night until his plane. He is in the shower when he recalls that evening in London long ago with Ayrton in their hotel room. His back was pressed to the cool tile of the shower, Ayrton’s hands pushing his legs up and his mouth running over the side of his neck. Alain sighs, his forehead presses to the wall and his curls hang over his cheeks. He shuts his eyes, sliding a hand over to himself and stands there until the water runs cold over the back of his neck. It’s a great human tragedy: that we always want what we cannot have and grow disinterested in things we do. 

_I miss you._

______________________

**May 12th**

Nelson gets angry quite often. He's always been like this. None more than when a race of his is screwed up by the incompetence of others. Gerhard bumps into the back of Nelson in Monaco and wrecks his suspension without apology. Somedays, Nelson tosses these things aside, consigning them to the back of his memory like a foul taste. And other days..

“I don’t understand why he is still in this sport,” Nelson clenches his jaw, his leg bouncing furiously on the carpet. 

“Who?”, Alain breathes, “Gerhard?”

“Yeah,” Nelson bites into his lip, “That fucker. He doesn’t do anything. He's a useless driver. No wonder McLaren picked him, a number two for their baby Senna.” He returns to cracking his knuckles in a fit of nervous energy. 

“Are you sure you had nothing to do with it?”, Alain sighs, resting his chin onto the palm of his hand. 

Nelson shoots his gaze towards him. “What?”, he frowns, “You think I caused it?”

“You’re older than him,” and he regrets saying that immediately. 

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”, he has that look in his eye again: a blink or flare of darkness. 

“You have gotten worse since your accident, you see it, right?”

Nelson doesn’t say anything in return. He only points his gaze away, continuing to bounce his foot up and down. Alain has to remind himself that Nelson is turning thirty-nine in a few months even as the color in his hair hasn't begun to betray him quite yet. 

______________________

**June 1st**

  
  


In bed that night, Nelson slides onto his back beneath him. “Move your legs wider,” he pulls Alain closer by sinking his fingers into his thighs until he is sitting onto of him. “I can’t move as well as I used to,” he admits soberly. Alain obliged him, and maybe just a small part of him worries about him. A very small part. Nelson is acting drowsy, his moments slow and deliberate when he touches him. 

“Are you okay?”, Alain is reticent, arching himself over him. Before Nelson can snap bullshit back at him he quickly crams in, “You seem tired. Have you been sleeping?”

Nelson’s eye twitches as though he is deciding between answering and kicking him out. “I haven’t slept a perfect night in four years,” he mutters and urges his hips forward, “Come on, go a little faster.”

But Alain ignores this demand and instead stops completely. “What do you mean?”, he asks, his brows knitting together. 

“Like I said,” Nelson grunts, annoyed, “I haven’t slept a full night in four years.”

“Have you talked to someone about it?”, Alain questions. 

Nelson scoffs, “Nobody has been able to help me. I’ve been to too many doctors, I am done.”

“What about the headaches?”

“Needy, aren’t you?”, he makes a face and figures that if he wants to finish himself off, he is going to have to answer Alain’s questions first. “Same as before,” he admits, “I haven’t been able to lead a race since the accident because of my stupid vision.”

That is when Alain meets his eyes and climbs completely off of him to the dismay of Nelson who admits a soft groan. “You haven’t been able to see?”, he mouths steadily. 

“No,” and Nelson appears slightly uncomfortable about speaking of it because his eyes keep fluttering about everywhere but the man on his left. “I’ve had to look at the braking markers because all of my visibility is gone.”

Alain blinks, “You’re telling me you’ve been driving for years without being able to see?” Nelson swallows and stays silent. “You realize you could’ve gotten yourself killed?!”, he shouts, shaking his head furiously and jumping off of the bed. There's a rage burning within him, hot and thick as he picks his way around the bed, swearing under his breath as he gathers up his clothes into his arms. 

Nelson sits up, “Stop being angry. You have no reason to be angry right now.” 

Alain clenches his jaw, dropping his clothes on the bed and beginning to pull his pants up. “Excuse me?”, he pauses sharply, “It’s like you have a damn death wish or something.”

“I swear, you’re acting like you care about me.”

Alain fingers curl together into fists at his side and he can feel himself quivering like he never had before. “You know what, Nelson? This is why you’re alone, why you have nobody but yourself,” and Nelson are only staring at him from the bed, calmly listening. “You push everyone away, anyone who cares. And you know why?”, there's nothing but silence. “Because you’re frightened, you’re scared of anyone and getting close to anyone because you are so afraid of being hurt that you will shove everyone away from you.” Alain recesses and Nelson’s eyes are to the window, his shoulders narrow and his face pale with insecurity. “That’s a very poor way to live,” he is already dressed now but he waits for something to break the fragile air between them. 

“At least I am not infatuated with something that was never there,” Nelson’s gaze lands on him, his eyes boring into his. It's predatory. Alain senses a hitch in his throat, his chest tightening and he catches his tongue. “Get out of here,” he waves his hand at him. 

“Right,” Alain smirks, “What did I just say?”

“Cute, Alain,” Nelson makes a face of disgust, “Now get the fuck out.”

So, he does. 

______________________

**July 28th**

  
  


It’s a low blow. 

“Ayrton was right about you,” Nelson growls as he snatches up his coat and slams the door behind him. Maybe Alain deserves it. According to Nelson: “You can’t go five seconds without thinking about him and an hour without talking about him.” Sometimes it is a great feeling, to recall what once was and most of the time he must lament it because it never lasted. He finds that little things still remind him of Ayrton. Every touch, every feeling replays of when his touch once was there. Although Alain can’t have him, the thought of him is inevitable. A disease almost; god, he prays for a cure. 

______________________

**July 28th**

  
  


It arrived out of the blue. 

“I’m retiring at the end of the season.”

Alain’s back is turned. He freezes, keeping his way from him. “Are you sure?”, he manages and he pulls his hands away from the zippers on his suitcase. 

Nelson snorts, “Well, I said it didn’t I?” But his voice sounds shallow, like something is clumped in the hollow of his throat. 

Alain finishes and slips his jacket over his arms, “You’ve thought about this carefully, right?”

Nelson recesses for a moment, then without a beat he replies, “Yes; for a long time.”

“Why?”, Alain hastens. 

And Nelson don’t appear as if he were prepared for this question and Nelson is man prepared for anything. It takes him back a little and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I’ll be turning forty next year, I’m old,” he chuckles airly and brushes his fingers up under his chin. But that's not the real reason. 

“That’s never stopped you before,” Alain points out and then crosses the room to sit on the counter beside him. “You’re still doing plenty well,” he nods, “So, what are the other reasons?”

Nelson shrugs meekly, flipping the corners of his mouth downwards. “I’d like to spend more time with my kids, travel less, pet some dogs…”, he edges off suddenly. 

Alain shrugs and returns back to his business, “Okay.” Nelson has a languid quality to him tonight, perhaps softer than he he would like as if he believed the world was watching him from beneath a microscope. But it is strange to imagine one day that Nelson won’t be there. What would the both of them be to each other then?

______________________

**October 20th**

  
  


Ferrari fires Alain two days before the Japanese Grand Prix. 

“They can’t just fire you for that,” Nelson’s hand is firm on his shoulder. Alain blinks, staring at the dust as it blows on the concrete. 

He realizes, “I don’t have another team to sign me.” There he goes, back to biting his nails to ease the tension that's rippling in his gut. 

“You’re being stupid,” Nelson scowls, “You have three world championships, you do remember that? You’ll find someone to sign you. Stop moping.”

Alain doesn’t say anything. He only gnaws his nails down to the bone with habit. He is just about to leave the garage, Nelson waiting for him on the other side of the wall, when Jean Alesi calls to him from the back of the garage. He is sitting there, huddled about the box television with a few of the mechanics. 

“Alain, you might want to see this,” Jean gestures, waving his hand to beckon him frantically. 

Nelson passes him a confused look and Alain nods, _wait for me_ , and then heads deeper into the garage. He steals his way around and when he gets there Jean grabs his hand and drags him down to his level. “What is this about?”, he looks up towards the screen. It’s the post-race press conference and a hint of dismay hits him rather abruptly. Ayrton is speaking, Gerhard beside him and Riccardo on the other end of the table. 

Alain peels his attention away, “And why do I need to see this?” A mechanic must of gotten fed up with their noise because he grunts and reaches over the dial up the volume to hear better. It’s Ayrton’s voice, lifting through the air towards him.

“Because he is talking about you,” Jean whispers. Alain freezes, a knot collects itself tightly in his chest. Nelson, who had gotten tired of waiting, is suddenly postulated at his side, he can feel him breathing on his shoulder as he peers over at the tv. 

“ _...and a result of that was the 1990 championship..._ ”

Nelson is trying to pull him away, wrapping a hand over his upper arm in an attempt to steer him. Alain rebucks him, leaning in closer to hanker his words. 

“ _...when we fought all the way, myself and Prost, and we came to the last race and pole position was set in the wrong place._ ”

Alain recalls being bumped off the track last year. He remembers the confrontation in the hallway, in the bar; he can picture everything as it stands before him. But he doesn’t want to. Nelson with those scars on his knuckles on stares at him with a pinch of worry. 

“ _We agreed before qualifying that pole position will be on the outside with the officials and Balestre gave the order after qualifying to not change and I found myself in the wrong side on pole._ ”

“You don’t need to be listening to this,” this time Alain pushes Nelson away, shoving him hard towards the wall. 

“ _I was so frustrated, that I promised myself that if after the start I lose the first place, I would go for it in the first corner; regardless of the result I would go for it and Prost wouldn’t turn in the first corner ahead of me. And that’s what took place and it was a result of the politicians making stupid decisions and bad decisions._ ”

Alain is suddenly aware of all the heads that have turned in his direction. He feels them, as though a thousand bullets are hitting him in unison. That is the sad thing about regret: that he cannot forget and Ayrton cannot forgive. Without warning, a temperament steal its control and he storms out of the garage. Maybe he doesn’t know exactly where he is going to go but he has it in the back of his mind, deep within his consciousness. He feels like a blind man, blind only to himself. 

“Alain!”, Nelson is hot on his heels, scampering after him. “Where are you going?”, he treads quickly beside him and Alain only winds his jaw as he storms into the next building over. The sun is sweltering on his cheeks, the blood cold in his veins as he arrives just as Ayrton is leaving the room with Gerhard behind him. The press are only now leaving through the other door. He didn't notice him at first but Gerhard bumps his shoulder Ayrton doesn't defend himself. He stands almost startled, observing Alain storm up, hunched with his knuckles in a grip and Nelson trying to hold his shoulders. 

As soon as Alain is before he grabs him, his fingers coiling in the collar of his red overalls. He pushes him by his back towards the wall beside them. “You did crash into me on purpose! You really did it!” Alain hisses out a scream. Ayrton is so stunned by his actions that he doesn’t squirm or make an effort to free himself. 

Nelson attempts to grab him back once again, “Alain, stop this, it is not worth it, you know this--”

“Fuck off, Nelson!”, he shouts and Nelson stammers a step back in surprise as though he were afraid of being bit. 

Ayrton swallows sharply and Alain can sense the movement under the elbow pinning his chest. Alain is staring so deeply, so furiously into his eyes that neither can draw each other away. “Yes,” he eventually says softly and the confidence in his words is petrifying. 

Ayrton moves to wiggle out of his grasp but Alain presses firmer on his chest, restraining him. “You could’ve killed me, you could’ve killed both of us!”, and he is shaking with something that he doesn’t understand. 

Ayrton swallows thickly, “But I didn’t, did I?”

Alain’s grip suddenly loosens as Nelson’s hand meets his shoulder once again. “Someone is going to see you, Alain, do you really want that?”, and his head falls, a deep sigh, a well of misery breaching up from his lungs. He lets go of him and Ayrton reaches up to smooth fabric of material over his collar bone. Swiping him away as though he were only dust...

Neither of them look back as they leave one another once again. 

____________________________

  
  


“What the fuck was that?”

The door of his motorhome slams shut behind them and it is the first thing Nelson says to him since he dragged him from the press room. Alain feels drained, he sits on the edge of the pull out mattress without movement.

“What do you want me to do?", he snaps his face up and he swore he saw pity in Nelson's eyes. "You want me to be stronger, you want me to be weaker, you want me to stop loving him and start--,” he rubs a hand over his face, pressing his fingertips into his eyes. 

In the silence, something emerges from between them. “You still care for him, don’t you?”

Alain stills and his eyes search towards the carpet, sweeping his forlorn gaze over Nelson's shoes. “I don’t have to tell you anything,” he frowns, standing up to Nelson only mere inches away from him now. So near that he could plant a hand on their chest or caress his cheeks. 

Nelson twitches, breathing thickly and his brows merged in the center of his forehead. “You still love him, Alain, don’t lie to me,” his nails reach forward to dig sharply into the pad of his palm, leaving little half moon crescents in his skin. Nelson’s hands meet his shoulders and he pushes him towards wall, his fingers shredding sharply into his hips as though it may be the last touch he ever gives him. “All these years you are still hung up on that piece of shit,” he hisses and his breath tumbles onto his skin. 

“You don’t have a right to ask me that,” Alain replies sternly. 

Nelson snarls, “Now don’t I?” He pulls away, studying him with a frightening fascination in his eye, as though he were prey. “Take off your clothes,” he demands. Alain hesitates a moment. “Now,” he growls. And Alain obliges shakily, moving to draw down the hem of his jeans and kicking them gently onto the floor. “Everything,” Nelson admits greedily, undoing the button on his own jeans and reaching down to stroke himself slow and lazy.

Nelson grabs for him; there's a quick pause before he slams his mouth to his, rough and sharp. It is all teeth, he tastes spots of blood as Nelson draws out his bottom hip with the serrated edge his teeth. _I am fascinated, enticed by the shape of your lips and the bite of your flesh_. 

It is a certain angry desperation; frantic almost. Nelson tosses him onto the bed, crawling over him and reaches between his legs. He squeezes and draws out the loud moan long trapped in his throat. “Nelson--”, Alain tries to put his hands on his chest, “Are you sure--”

“No,” he snaps, and his face is firm, his features edged with anticipation. He slips a hand underneath his shirt, dips it over his stomach and pinches at his skin. Alain is shaking, trembling already when Nelson spits into his hand and enters him. He has a hand on either side of him as if guarding him from leaving. 

“Honestly--”

“You can tell me to stop anytime,” he reminds, his voice shrilly piercing the air. Alain shuts his mouth and Nelson grabs his face just as he begins to turn it away. “Not this time,” Alain’s eyes widen in spurpise. “You are going to look at me as I fuck you. Don’t think I never noticed, I know you think of him,” his tone is brittle, so laced with million little needles. “Guess what Alain? I am not him for you,” he kicks his knuckles playfully up against the bottom of his jaw. He picks up the pace and Alain groans, digging his nails into his bicep in retaliation. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” he slaps him away. “You think he ever cared about you?” Alain feels something collide in his ribcage. “He threw you around like a piece of meat and you still care for him,” Alain’s wrists are held down above his head, his elbows pushed out farther. 

He can feel it, he notices it when he opens his eyes. “Please, stop that,” he can’t see through the haze of tears beginning trickling into his eyes. Maybe because he knows, deep down in his humanity that Nelson is correct. 

“Stop fucking you?”, he slows just a little to brings his lips to his ear, “Or telling you the truth you don’t want to hear?”

“Stop!”, Alain shouts, knocking his head up into his nose. Alain struggles, pushing out of their grasp and curling across the bed. Nelson stumbles back, grabbing his upper lip and nearly toppling off of the bed.

Then it's quiet. It is quiet. It so very quiet. Still and unmoving. The silence weaved itself, curled about the both of them so full of unfinished things. It’s a desolate unperceivable web that softly spun it’s madness above their heads creating a glass hotel of all these fragile emotions. It is the most reticent thing he has ever heard. Not a sheet moves, nor a blink and the world is like stone for only a moment. Alain wants to reach out, to press his fingertips to the air at the fragile atmosphere. But he is so very afraid of shredded glass in ways he had never known. He wipes a hand underneath his eye, the back of his hand is wet with tears. 

He hesitates before over and Nelson is blinking into the space beside him as if there were ghost there listening, hankering them as they sit there in the weight of their sins. The open space between them stretches, silent and bright of talons. The calling range has been too far gone. Nelson’s nose is bleeding and he doesn’t wait for him to make the first move.

He reaches for Alain as he sits there with his head coiled in between his knees and silent tears patterned down his cheeks. “Alain…”, but Nelson pulls himself back before he has time to move. He drags reluctant touch away once again. Nothing can break this silence but understanding--not touches, or words nor bodies collided into one another. Stagnic sounds growing so loud in his ears, water that crowds his throat and fills his lungs to the brim like a drowning man. And the weight of those words spill out before him

_You still care for him..._

He tears his eyes up. Nelson’s eyes flicker between him and the crumbled sheets around his legs. “Why do you like to hurt me?”, it is spoken so softly that Alain barely even hears himself. It was as if he didn’t know the words in his own sick mind as they crawled from the very pit of his stomach and played along his tongue. 

Their eyes meet over the distance. A silent, lonely place were broken things collide at the core of it all.

“Because you’ve done worse and you don’t even see it."

Nelson's eyes are so tender, so soft about the edges. And maybe it took this occasion to see that Nelson is so afraid; everyday, so very frightened although he never shows it. This all appears to him now.

 _You don’t even see it._

“Leave, please, Nelson.”

Without barely moving anything around him, he slides off of the mattress, gathering his clothes and redressing. Alain keeps his attention away from him focusing on the pool forming on the lining of his shirt. Nelson shuffles around the floor, the door opening and then pausing in its hinges unfinished and yearning for something more. When it eventually breaks over the air, it shatters that fragile environment between them. And Alain is so exhausted with the weight of everything in him and around him that he isn’t sure if he truly heard it. 

“You’re too much for me. Forgive me please, Alain.”

 _Forgive me_.

He wants to ask: what for?

Alain curls beneath the sheets alone, holding his stomach and imagining that the bed is filled without anyone but the ghosts and memories of his pasts. That the fulfillment would consign all that that has crawled from the cold, endless dirt to taunt him in the frozen darkness of the twilight. All he wants is to feel just a little less alone. 

But all he wants… is that he cannot have. 

______________________

**November 3rd**

  
  


Alain’s itch to race doesn’t disappear even as he is at home during the last race of the reason. Ayrton crosses the finishing line in first place punching his fist in the air. He is bouncing Sacha in his lap as Nico lays on his stomach, propped in front of the tv. 

“Your friend Piquet finished in fifth,” Nico doesn’t shift his vision away from the screen. 

“That’s nice,” Alain mutters, picking Sacha up and peering in his chubby face. _Oh why did I ever name you after them_ , he thinks. The baby blinks before beginning to suck on the tips of his fingers. Why can’t his life be that simple as that? _We’ll make sure never to tell Nelson, right, mon petit?_ Sacha becomes unsettled and Nico switches off the box. 

“How about you take him?”, Alain sighs, sliding his youngest off the couch. He totters over to Nico who leads him by the hand out of the room. Alain sits there for a moment, with only his thoughts to play out before him. _Forgive me_ ; it runs through his brain now as it has these past weeks. His attention peers to the phone on his left, away again, back again. He does this for about two hours as he tries to occupy his time. Eventually, he gives up; he picks up the phone and dials. He bites his nails, pacing about waiting for the phone to be picked up. 

“ _Hello?_ ”

A part of him is surprised they are there to answer at all. It takes him a moment and he is almost worried he is going to hang up. “Have a good race without me?”

“ _Alain?_ ”

 _It’s me_. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading. If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask. Support your creators and comment, it barely takes any time. Nobody listens whenever creators say that, but thought I'd remind you. See you in twenties days for the first chapter of 1992 (my favorite, favorite section of the whole series!). 
> 
> My Tumblr is @pieregasly


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